


The Loudest Sound

by vega_voices



Series: Sleeps with Butterflies [43]
Category: CSI, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Hell was a place on earth.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loudest Sound

**Title:** The Loudest Sound  
 **Series:** [Sleeps with Butterflies](http://vega-voices.livejournal.com/79902.html)  
 **Author:** vegawriters  
 **Fandom:** CSI  
 **Pairing:** Grissom/Sara; touches on Sara’s relationships with Doug and Dan.  
 **Characters:** Sara Sidle, Greg Sanders, Laura Sidle, Nick Stokes, DB Russell.  
 **Rating:** Mature (For adult themes and some self-love.)  
 **Timeframe:** Season 13, post Forget Me Not, before Last Woman Standing.  
 **A/N:** I was going to kill Dan off. This is more interesting. Because, honestly, I’m not done with him yet.  
 **Disclaimer:** Sara Sidle, Gil Grissom, CSI, and even the Grissom/Sara relationship belong to CSI and the powers that be at CBS. If they belonged to a lot of fans, right now a lot of fans wouldn’t be so upset. I’m going to use this disclaimer to say that I have faith, misplaced as it might be, in the writers. I’m also going to use it to say that I don’t make a penny off of this work that I do.

 **Summary:** _Hell was a place on earth._

When the hand connected to flesh, the sound varied with the force of the blow. For lesser punches, it was as if a snap had gone off against skin, a flick of a match in the darkness. But with each pound of pressure the sound sunk, growing louder while finding lower and lower ranges until it was nothing but a dull thunk – brick against concrete with blood spatter to show for it.

No, the loudest sounds that came from a beating came from the vocal chords of those involved – a woman screaming, a man yelling. Until came the loudest sound of all.

Silence.

***

When her fingers worked between her legs, pressing against her clit and sliding in and out of her body, tweaking at her g-spot and scraping lightly in patterns that excited every nerve ending, Sara still thought of Gil. She thought of how his beard always scraped roughly against the soft expanse of her thighs, how he’d nip at her nub of nerves so lightly that she’d be pushed again and again to the brink of pain before crashing over into a void of pleasure.

At first, she’d been hesitant to touch herself, let alone fantasize. To think about Gil in their bed - her bed? - induced tears that left her gasping into her pillow, clinging to his, praying that someday the nightmare would end and he’d come in the door and hold her and they’d work through this place that he didn’t seem to want to work through. One kiss in a parking lot after too much to drink and one awkward moment with Sofia in a hotel room in Carson City proved she wasn’t ready to even think about moving on. She didn’t know if she’d ever be. So, when it was late and she needed to sleep and not even the pills were working, she stroked between her legs and dreamed of her husband.

Yet each time she worked herself to climax, tears inevitably followed the storm. She loved making love to him, feeling him move inside of her. He had a thing for the spot just below her shoulder blade and he’d spoon up behind her and lave the old scar (a gift from one of her father’s drunken terrors) while fucking her with his fingers. Long nights in sleeping bags in tents part of research camps, they’d learned to perfect the position. She’d always held on for the ride, whimpering and begging and he’d taken her to his own pleasure before opening her just enough to slide into her from behind.

Even when they had been at their worst, the sex had been amazing. Even still, the last time he’d been in this bed, she’d refused him, not wanting it to be the last time they made love. Now, as she clutched the sheets and rolled over, pressing her legs together and reaching for the pillow that still smelled like him, she waited for the tears to come and wished she’d given in to his advances. Just one more time together was all she asked, until the next time, and the time after that. Her wedding ring glimmered faintly in the light that wafted up from the kitchen and she stared at the gold band, wondering if she’d ever really be able to take it off.

Once, after they’d married, they’d stretched out in bed in a hotel in Greece. His fingers had traced over every scar on her body, from the ones leftover from childhood scrapes and falls to the ones that lingered from Natalie, still swelling red from time to time. There was the line down her back from where she’d smashed into a counter when Dan had lost his temper after reading an email from Gil. And the one her mother had given her, when the voices that controlled her brain made her turn on her ten-year-old daughter. He’d turned every painful memory into a gentle massage, telling her over and over again how beautiful she was and how the scars helped to make her, but they didn’t define her. He’d kissed the places on her knees where childhood play left her covered in Band-Aids. He’d touched gently between her legs, stroking away the hurt left behind by terrified nights in foster care. And when he’d gently slipped inside her body, he’d promised to always love her, always cherish her, because she was the strongest person he knew and that was an inspiration.

Alone in the bed they’d bought together, Sara cursed his name and his vows and every last whispered word of love.

Her phone sounded, but it was the work cell, not her personal one. Blowing air out through her lungs and trying to compose herself, she reached for the device. She was on call, so ignoring the summons would only get her in more hot water and after the week she’d had, she wasn’t going to step on any toes. Her boss’ name flashed on the screen and she answered, trying to keep the emotion from her voice. “Sidle.”

“Hey, Sara.” DB’s tone was as it had been since Taylor and Basderic and her unfortunate incident involving an interrogation room and a nearly missed assault charge. He didn’t pity her, which she respected, but he definitely carried a hint of concern. The fact that he worried but didn’t baby her helped her get through the day. At times, Greg’s puppy dog eyes and Nick’s incessant “are you okay” got old.

“What do we got?”

“Domestic at a hotel. Some conventioneer knocked his girlfriend around. Finn’s doing collection on the victim at Desert Palm but we need you down at PD to process the guy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why me? Aren’t you worried I’ll punch him?”

DB chuckled a bit. “If you do, make sure the marks don’t show. I’m sure Brass will pull the shades for you.”

She wanted to laugh, but her breath caught in her throat. The thing was, she could make it so the marks didn’t show. Until later. When the bruise would come from the deeper tissue, spreading through the muscle and then up toward the skin, where it would blister out in red and purple blotches that lingered for days. She sat up and ran her hand through her hair. She smelled of sex, her sex, and the sweat of the shift before. “Do I have time to take a quick shower? I know I should be ready to go for a callout, but I just … I fell asleep after shift.” It was an easy lie. He didn’t need to know about the glass of wine and the hour she’d spent staring at the bottle of pills.

“Yeah. Hurry though.”

“I will.” She paused. “What’s the guy’s name?”

“Jarvis,” DB was speaking. “Dan Jarvis.”

In her mind, a door slammed. A shout echoed. She felt her body slamming into the side of the squad car as he demanded to know why she’d looked sideways at someone else or why she’d shown up late to shift or why she hadn’t picked up the phone on the first ring. She could feel the tremors in her body, the way her jaw clenched, the sweat on her palms. The right thing to do was to tell DB the truth. She’d already lost so much ground since the thing with Taylor, she couldn’t leave anything else out. Not now. “Um, are you back at the lab?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t I check in with you when I get there? Then I’ll go over to PD.”

“Sure, Sara.” She could hear the confusion in his voice, but her brain couldn’t respond. Instead, she dropped the phone into the sheets and rose, kicking aside the sheets and her discarded underwear as she made her way to the shower. Years of bathing in shower rooms at labs and precincts gave her the ability to wash in five minutes and by the time her hair was drying in ringlets around her face, she was setting the alarm code and loading her kit into her Prius.

Still, once in her car, she pulled out her phone and touched the familiar face in her phone book. Across the miles, the phone rang and rang and went to voicemail and she was glad she’d decided against makeup because as she spoke, the tears began. “Gil, I’m sorry but I needed to talk to you. I needed … Gil. Dan’s in Vegas. And he’s been arrested. And I’m scared, Gil. I need to hear you. Please, honey. Please. Call me back when you get this. Please.” She hung up and wished instantly she could take it all back. She wasn’t his wife anymore. What did he care that a cage was forming around her again? What was he going to do, really? What could he do?

Just like before, she’d deal with this on her own.

***

DB noticed it about ten seconds after he hung up the phone. Nick had delivered Dan Jarvis’ PD file DB had been scanning it while on the phone with his top CSI (she was better than Jules he could finally admit) and there it was. Her name. Doug Wilson’s as well, but that was a whole other story. Well, now he knew how they all knew each other back then. Jesus Christ. Well, if someone’s world was going to implode all at once, this was the way to do it. When she walked in the door to his office half an hour later, he held up the file. “Anything you want to tell me about Dan Jarvis, Sara? Now might be the time.”

She sighed and gave him a look that he’d come to describe as “but I was going to tell you” and then sank into the chair opposite him. “If it helps, I was going to tell you when I got here.” She looked tired, and a touch hung-over, and DB wondered if she even realized how much she worried the band on her finger anymore.

“You can’t walk into that room, Sara.”

“It’s been thirteen years since I’ve seen him, DB. Hell, he probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“Yeah? So, how’d you get that scar on your arm?” He challenged her. She glanced down at the sleeve that only went partway to her wrist and tried to tug the fabric down over the long, thin scar that at times glowed white under the florescent lights. “That’s what I thought.” DB pressed his fingertips into his eyes, trying to will away the encroaching headache. In one breath he was amazed and yet horrified at the life his favorite CSI had lived. Sara was special, anyone could see that. A mind that rivaled the top in the business combined with a rarely seen empathy in veterans of their profession. She chased rabbits, and often to her detriment, but she was good at her job. Even when she was blowing cases against serial killers or getting caught up in the emotional impact of the death of someone she knew.

“The notes just reference a bar fight.” DB said. “But there’s more going on here than that, isn’t there?”

Sara paled. Instantly her arms crossed over her chest and she glanced over her shoulder, looking for a way out. DB recognized it for what it was. Protection. He wondered if she even realized what she was doing. “Sara?” He stood up and walked over to her, slipping into the role of caregiver. How many domestic cases had he done where the victim reacted just like this – slightly numb, skittish, worried. When he touched her arm, the flinch was visible. “Come on. Come sit down over here on the couch instead.”

She obeyed the gentle command and moved, but her eyes were focused on a point not quite here in Vegas. DB waited for her to come back to herself. After a moment she moved her hands over her face and shook her head, coming out of the flashback. “Yes, obviously.” She sighed. “He, uh, there was a fight in a bar.”

“Yeah, that’s in his case file. At the Rusty Nickel. Put you in the hospital.”

She nodded. “Uh, yeah. Dan was known for his temper. It got out of control one night.” She took a deep breath and shrugged and the smile on her face was so forced that DB had to blink back tears. What the hell had happened to her? DB got up to close the door but Sara stared at it like it was a monster out to get her, so he left it slightly ajar.

“Sara …” DB shook his head. “You need to go home. Come in at midnight. I’ll put you on the first robbery case out the door.”

And then she looked at him. Her eyes, which always seemed to waver between green and brown, were as bright with tears as he’d seen them in the two years he’d been in Vegas. Not when they’d sat up at Franks that day and she’d told him about her mother, and her brother. Not even when she’d sat in this office and confessed her marriage was ending. “I can’t go home, DB. It just isn’t a good idea. I need to work right now.”

“Sara. You can’t.” DB met her eyes. “What happened between you two?”

She sighed and shook her head and the terror that passed across her face should have been enough. Finally she looked down at her hands and twisted her ring around her finger. “I am trained in self-defense. I am licensed to carry a gun in California and Nevada. And he spent years of my life throwing me into walls, breaking bones, and controlling me and it was Grissom who came into my life and made me realize what else I could have if I let myself live a little. So, you’ll excuse me if I don’t want to get into the nasty details right now. Because that bar fight that’s mentioned in his IA file almost killed me. That was the end. You don’t want to know the beginning or the middle.” She shivered. “When I moved to Vegas, my ribs were still healing but no one knew. I was so bitchy the first couple of weeks because I was in eleven kinds of pain, but I didn’t want anyone to find out. Gil knew,” she blushed, “but that was different.”

DB waited, thinking. His first thought was that at some point, he had to get the whole story of the relationship between Grissom and Sara. But his second was that this was it, the completion of the cycle that had driven Sara to his kitchen table a month ago, when they’d shared tea and she’d monologue to someone, anyone, who could understand how hard it was to keep a relationship together all the while living this life, doing this job. At the time she’d been talking about Grissom, but Grissom was only part of her cycle. The other part was down at PD, waiting for a CSI to come process him. He’d send Greg. Greg would keep his cool.

The silence in the office was oppressive. Sara stood and walked to the mushroom case, running her finger along the edge of the tank. “I don’t want to get into the gory details, but I can’t go home. It isn’t a good idea for me right now.” She paused and DB wondered what to do. “Did he do it? Is she going to press charges?” A breath of sad air escaped her. “I can’t tell you how many times I walked into the IA offices back in San Francisco, only to walk out again. Gil …” her voice choked and DB realized there were very few people around the lab whom she felt safe enough around to refer to her husband by his first name, “he kept begging me to get out of there.” The breath she sucked in was as sad as the one that escaped her.

DB felt for her, and for an instant he contemplated calling his wife to come get her. But Sara’s terror of being alone didn’t change the fact that she couldn’t be here, and she wasn’t authorized for overtime. “Nick is going to take you home, Sara.”

“No.” She shook her head, “I have some errands to run.” He watched her shoulders set. “I promise to avoid interrogation and processing.” Her back straightened. “I’ll just go straight to my car.” This was the Sara he recognized. Proud, silent, defensive Sara. The Sara everyone believed was fine. He now knew it was the way to tell she was anything but. “I’ll be back at midnight.”

“Sara …”

She shrugged. “I get the rules. But I don’t need anyone to drive me. I can’t … I just can’t right now.” She walked out of the office and DB’s eyes followed her as far as the windows would allow.

There were days he hated his job. After all, all he wanted to do was storm into the interrogation room and crack Dan Jarvis’ head against the corner of a table just to see how he liked it. Just some little justice for Sara and all the women like her. Instead, he turned to his paperwork and made the notes about why he’d removed Sara from the case.

Hopefully, she’d just go home.

***

The hardest part was that Greg knew her history. Over the last thirteen years, he’d become privy to many of the secrets that only Grissom knew. He knew about Dan. He knew about what she’d been through. Their friendship was such that when they should have been asleep, they often sat in her living room, just talking. But that had changed over the last few months. Sara had grown so much more insulated, so much darker. The woman she’d been ten years ago, when she’d been hiding her sorrows from all of them. And, as had happened then, everyone had turned a blind eye. Sara looked tired, they said. But no one had stopped to ask if she was okay. Had they?

Well, he hadn’t. And now, face to face with this part of Sara’s past, this thing that had hit her so hard she’d ended up in the hospital more than once, all Greg wanted to do was take out every last bit of frustration about his failures toward Sara out on Dan Jarvis. He wanted to beat the man into the ground, to make him feel every pain Sara had felt, every broken bone, every bruise, every smack across the face. He wanted him to feel how it felt to be manhandled and pushed and forced. How often had that man sitting in the interrogation room raped Sara? How often had she acquiesced not because she wanted to but because she was terrified of what would happen if she said no?

But, as Nick had reminded him more than once since the old PD file had been delivered, they were here about Brittney Peters, not Sara Sidle. Whatever guilt they were feeling couldn’t be relieved here.

He still wanted to kick the guy in the nuts and then in the face. Multiple times.

Would anyone really care if he took out all his frustrations on the asshole? He was sure Brass would hold the guy down. But instead of acting out, Greg took a couple of deep breaths, relaxed his hold on the file in his hands and then stepped into the room. He set the orange jumpsuit on the table between them and then opened the paper bag that contained everything he needed for the evidence collection. Without saying a word, he spread the paper on the floor and when the other man didn’t step onto it, he finally spoke. “My name is Greg Sanders,” he said, keeping it official, “and I’m here to process you. You need to step onto the paper and then remove your clothing. All of it.” He glared at him. “And if you’re shy, we can pull up the blinds.”

The former cop snorted and didn’t move. “What the hell am I doing here? Why am I locked up?”

“Because your girlfriend is filing charges against you for assault.” Greg kept his brain on the case. As far as he knew, the asshole had no idea that Sara was even in Vegas.

“I didn’t touch her! We argued! That’s all.”

“The evidence is telling us otherwise, Mr. Jarvis.” He nodded to the paper. “Now stand on that piece of paper and strip, or I will get a very big cop in here to assist you.”

“Evidence.” He snorted. “It’s amazing how the evidence can disappear when you forensic guys want it to.”

Greg bit his tongue so hard it bled. The copper taste in his mouth grounded him and he focused on the evidence in front of him, the case file, the reminder that Sara wasn’t the one who had filed charges.

But why hadn’t she? What had this guy done to her to make her so terrified that she wouldn’t press charges? That wasn’t the Sara he knew. But then again, the Sara he knew didn’t drink while taking sleeping pills. She didn’t find herself in hotel rooms with strange men while still wearing her wedding ring.

“Well,” Greg pointed to the cuts and scrapes on Dan’s hands, “right there, that shows sign of aggression. We found defensive wounds on your girlfriend’s body and her blood on your clothing. When you combine that with your record –“

“I’ve never been charged.” But the look on his face told Greg he’d just showed his entire hand. Dan now knew Sara was here. The only one who would tell of his record was someone who had been there, had felt every punch, and been too scared to say anything. Greg almost punched the guy. Instead picked up his camera and wished he could carry his gun into interrogation. “Take off the shirt and keep your mouth shut.” Jarvis finally complied. Greg bagged each item of clothing and took photographs and all necessary DNA. Only once, when swabbing the wounds on his fists, did Greg cause any pain. And when he was done, he ignored Jarvis completely. He’d let Brass do the interrogation alone this time but he did want to sell tickets. Brass wouldn’t be nearly as professional.

***

  
Hell was a place on earth.

Sara stood alone to the entrance of the room, looking through the flimsy curtains at the shadow that sat by the window, rocking slightly, staring out at the dimming day. The truth was, Sara hated it here as much as she knew her mother had to. But there weren’t that many care facilities that were willing to take someone with the level of mental illness her mother battled in addition to the criminal background. Because when she wasn’t medicated, Laura Sidle could still get violent. When the voices loomed, echoing shadows in her head, telling of curses heaped upon her by demons from a widening deep, she lashed out, shrieking; a walking devil in her own right.

The facility reeked of stale urine and mass produced food. The floors were often sticky, and more than not, someone wandered by half dressed and muttering about death, destruction, and the Kennedy assassination. It sucked, but it was better than the roach infested hovel her mother had been living in back in Modesto. If the care facility there hadn’t closed, Sara might have kept her there, on the beach, with nurses trained to handle people just like her. But it had and so Laura had been left in the lurch, struggling without regular checkups and with constant access to her vices.

So here she sat. Rocking slightly. A nervous twitch of her medication. And Sara just didn’t know what to do with her.

The room held three beds, all separated by stained pink curtains that could be moved with just a tug here or there. The brick walls above each bed were taped with whatever caught the resident’s fancy. Pictures from home. Crude crayon drawings. The beds had some touch of personality. Different comforters and pillows and in this room, there was even a couch piled high with stuffed animals and throw pillows. But the linoleum floors were chipped and the bathroom never quite smelled clean.

The staff did their best, Sara knew, but this wasn’t the small facility designed for women just like her mother. No, this was the mass produced care she’d hoped to avoid; she’d been able to afford a slightly nicer place, a place where at least her mother could have her own room, but the nicer places didn’t want a schizophrenic murderer and it was within their rights to refuse. At least her mother received slightly better care than many of the residents, but that only came from Sara’s connection to the police department. She knew the social worker was scared of her. She knew they were afraid of being turned in for a violation.

Pushing herself off the doorway, Sara walked in, crossing the room to her mother’s side. “Hey, Mom.” She tried the waters, gauging how lucid Laura was.

Laura looked up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Sara …” her speech was slow, but clear. “Sara, hi.” She patted the empty chair and Sara took a seat. “I was just thinking about you and your brother.”

“Oh?” Sara smiled a bit. “And what were you thinking?”

“How cute he was when we brought you home from the hospital.”

“You remember that?” Sara raised an eyebrow. There were times she wondered just how many of her mother’s memories were real and how many the voices in her head had created.

“Of course I do.” Laura patted her hand. “He was so excited to have a baby sister.” Sara sighed a bit and let her mother have her moment. It wasn’t like she could deny it. “How’s your friend, Sara? Ronald?”

The hair on her neck stood up, and she tried to keep her voice even as she replied. “Mom, he’s not my friend. I need you to remember that.”

“But he was so nice. So sweet. He told me so much about your life now.”

Sara bit her lip and took a breath. “Mom. Please.” She leaned forward and tried to look into her mother’s ever shifting eyes. “Mom. He was stalking me. Please, he wasn’t my friend. I need you to understand this.”

But Laura shook her head again. “He told me everything. Everything. Even about you and your husband splitting up.”

Tears touched Sara’s eyes and she glanced toward the door, calculating exactly how long she could stay without making it awkward. How long until she could flee, back to the safety of her spotless but silent house. The emptiness in the home made it impossible to breathe, but at least there she could sit in the confines of her own thoughts and not risk walking next to her mother through hers. “Yeah, Mom.” She choked out. “Gil and I are in a rough patch right now. We don’t know if we’re going to make it through.”

Laura rubbed her hands across her face and looked back out the window. “You shouldn’t be with him if he doesn’t make you happy.”

Sara sighed. “Gil does make me happy, Mom. But it’s just complicated right now.”

“Ronald said you cheated on him.”

Her temper snapped. “Mom!” Laura jumped and Sara took a breath, trying to calm down. “Mom he isn’t my friend and I wish you’d stop listening to him. He hurt me, Mom. He hurt me. Don’t you understand that?”

Laura reached out and took her hand and Sara let her only because she was desperate to make her mother understand. “So why is he your friend?”

“He isn’t, mom.” Sara sighed. “I know he told you we were friends and he told you a lot about me. But he was stalking me, Mom.”

“You shouldn’t cheat on your husband, Sara.”

“I’m not, Mom.” She covered her mother’s hands with her own and changed the subject. Obviously, this wasn’t going to go anywhere. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m tired, Sara.” She paused. “But I’m okay. It’s boring here. I miss the ocean.”

“I know, Mom. I do too sometimes.” Sara squeezed the other woman’s hands. They were cold. “You remember that cove by the bed and breakfast?”

“The one you dropped all your dolls in to?”

“Yes.” Sara smiled. “Yeah, that one.”

“You loved playing there.” Laura smiled fondly. “Whenever I couldn’t find you, I’d look for you there.”

“Yeah …” Sara left out the memory of the time her mother had been so angry at her for disappearing, she’d thrown her against the rocks. The cut had needed six stitches.

“Sara?”

“Yeah, mom?”

There was a long pause and Sara waited, knowing that if her mother was retreating back inside her head, there wasn’t much for her to do. But finally, the woman whose eyes she’d inherited looked at her and reached up a shaking hand to touch her cheek. “I’m sorry you have to be here like this, to watch me like this. I’m sorry I put you through this.”

“Hey,” Sara shook her head, “I’m fine, Mom.”

“Why are you breaking up with your husband? Is it me?”

“No … no.” Tears threatened to spill over but Sara kept talking. “No, mom. It isn’t you. No. There’s just a lot of … it’s complicated and even I don’t really understand it right now. But it isn’t you. And it isn’t me and it isn’t him. It’s just everything is a mess right now and we aren’t quite sure how to fix it.”

“You should call him,” Laura said softly. “Call him. Tell him you love him. Tell him that you look at him the way I used to look at your father. Before everything went dark.”

“How would you know that, Mom? How would you know how I look at him?”

“Every time you say his name, Sara. Your eyes change.” She stood up and walked back to her bed. She curled up, her arms around the stuffed elephant Sara had given her, and stared at the wall. “Don’t let it go black, Sara.”

Sara sighed and rubbed her eyes. The conversation couldn’t go anywhere else and she couldn’t stay here, not with her mother drifting off to sleep. So she went over and tucked the blanket around her shoulders and walked to the front, keeping an eye out for the creatures that night brought about, even in a place like this. The nurse buzzed her out the door and Sara raced to her car but didn’t get in, not right away. She stood outside in the gathering dusk, breathing in the clear air, ridding her senses of the smells of the facility. When her heart no longer pounded in her ears, Sara slipped into the car and drove – not home, but back to the lab, to PD. Dan would still be in interrogation she was sure. She had to see him, just once. To listen. She had to know what he’d done.

***

  
Sara stared through the window of the interrogation room, her eyes never leaving the man who had spent so long torturing her. When she breathed in she could taste the liquor on his breath. When she moved, her ribs caught. Her head hurt and her wrist throbbed and not even Gil’s worried response to her panicked voice mail could calm her. Thirteen years later and she was still frozen in place, waiting for that fist to land and connect in a way no one would ever see.

“Sara?”

The voice next to her made her jump and Sara turned, offering up an apologetic smile to her boss. “I’m sorry. I haven’t talked to him.”

“That’s all I care about. Come on.” DB stepped back and Sara recognized the body language. Gil had used it. She used it. They’d all been trained to react to victims of domestic violence in this way – open, gentle, giving them the control. They walked away from the window and back toward the lab. Sara didn’t speak and DB didn’t push her. And when they reached his office, he made sure that she had a clear path to the door in case she needed to bolt. When she settled on the couch, he took a position just to the side, giving her complete control. She appreciated it. “Never rains but it pours, right?”

A humorless laugh pushed out of her lungs and Sara wiped an errant tear away. “God. He couldn’t have shown up last year, when Gil was around. No, he has to show up now, when my life is a shambles. It’s like he has some god damned radar to my misery.”

“How did you two meet?”

“It was back in San Francisco. I’d just started working at the lab and he was the hot uniformed cop, you know. And for a couple of years it was fine. We weren’t monogamous and we just dated and then one day he came over, drunk, and I’d had …” she paused and blushed a bit. “My girlfriend was leaving.” DB raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Sara appreciated the discretion. “Dan … didn’t appreciate that.” She sighed. “He spent the next five years terrorizing me and I just didn’t know how to break the cycle. Somewhere in there I met Gil, and Doug, and I still couldn’t just walk away.”

“Why didn’t you file charges?”

“Because I was terrified that IA would clear him and countersue me. I have a friend who was a cop in Palm Beach and she was date raped by their Supercop. No one believed her and after IA countersued, she ended up having to leave the job completely.” Sara paused and looked at him. “It’s what we don’t talk about, you know. How many women are like me and Holly?” She shook her head and resisted the urge to tuck her legs up and curl into a tiny ball. “Thirteen years later and he still terrifies me.”

“Well, it looks like we’ve got him now.”

“I hope so.” Her hands were shaking and she pressed them to her knees to get it to stop. Before she could speak again, her phone rang and she glanced down. Gil. Fucker. “I’m … going to take this …” she choked out. She knew he wouldn’t sleep until he heard her voice, no matter how late it was, wherever he was. And she needed to get away for just a second, so she fled to the locker room and swung the door shut behind her.

“Hi.”

“Did he touch you?”

Her chest constricted at the tone in her husband’s – ex-husband’s? – voice. So worried. He’d seen so much with her, lived through so much. And now this and he wasn’t here and she knew he was scared. “He’s in custody,” she said before realizing how that sounded. “God, no. Gil. He … he was arrested for hitting his girlfriend. She’s actually pressing charges. He’s going away. As far as I know, he doesn’t even know I’m here with the lab.” She leaned against her locker and tucked her phone between her ear and her shoulder. She spun her wedding ring around on her finger and listened to the man she loved more than anything breathe.

“I don’t want you within five hundred feet of him, Sara.”

“And how are you going to determine the distance, Gil?” Her tone was angrier than she felt, but it was frustrating how much he cared now that they weren’t together. Just like before. Just like when he couldn’t handle the age difference and her being his subordinate and when they finally allowed each other to get separate lives, he flipped out and suddenly gave a damn again. She couldn’t repeat the cycle. Not this time. If he wanted to reconcile, he had to tell her he wanted to reconcile. He could damned well tell her he wanted a separation just fine. Fucking coward. She hated that she loved him. One more spin around her finger and she pulled the ring off. It felt less empty this time.

“You’re right,” he said, softly, and she wondered if he was still wearing his ring. Quickly, she slid the engraved gold band back onto her finger. Not yet. Not just yet. “I just … I worry, Sara.”

She choked a bit. “It’s not your place to worry about me right now, Gil.”

“It’s always going to be my place, Sara.”

“Not until you can give me a real reason for why you’re doing this. For why you want this.”

“I’m calling about Dan, not us.”

“Stop compartmentalizing.” Silence filled the miles between them and she knew even he didn’t understand everything that was going through his brain at the moment. So she kicked the locker a bit, wondering what to say next. “I’m okay, Gil. I’m not even on the case. They’re making me keep my distance.”

“Okay.” He sounded wounded and she wanted to fix it, but she didn’t know how. So instead, she changed the subject.

“I have to get back to work, Gil.”

“Call me before you go to sleep, okay?”

She wanted to ask why. Instead she took a breath and nodded. “Okay.”

“Sara …”

“What, Gil?” At least she could focus on how pissed she was at him and not the abusive ex in the other room.

“I’m sorry.”

The statement hung there and she wondered if he knew what he was apologizing for. There was no reason for him to feel any guilt left over Dan and her own memories would fade as she distanced herself from the case. But she had a feeling he wasn’t sorry for the breakup. So what? He was sorry for breaking her heart? Sorry he wasn’t ever home? Sorry he’d taken the dog? Sorry for leaving her with a mortgage payment that really, she couldn’t afford but she’d be damned if she sold her house? Sorry for what?

Asshole.

Worse, he’d called to comfort her about Dan and it had become … this. Really, they were more broken than she wanted to admit.

She spun the ring around her finger again and sighed. “I’m okay, Gil. And I’ll call you before I go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay.”

She hung up and tucked her phone back into her pocket, still cursing him. Her ring caught on a thread on her jacket and she tugged, staring at it. Why was she still wearing it? What was she holding on to? What dream was she expecting to walk through the door?

Her phone beeped before she could dive any deeper into her head. Robbery at the Tangiers. Perfect. It would keep her occupied but not up for three days. Sara stopped worrying her wedding band, grabbed her kit from on top of the lockers, and headed out. Work was good.

***

  
The emotions were never easy when it came to domestic violence cases. It was too easy to suspect that the victim would return to the abuser. It was too easy to give up on the system because the system put them right back on the streets. And it was too heartbreaking to stare into the face of a woman whose secrets were worn on the outside, and know that she knew her time was still limited. How the hell had Sara survived?

Nick watched Brittney Peters give her statement to Brass. Ten stitches above her right eye, six above her left. Broken nose. Bruised temple. Fractured wrist. What had Sara looked like? He flinched every time Brittney spoke. Her windpipe had been bruised and she could barely eek out a whisper.

And this man had been on the streets? Why hadn’t Sara reported him? Why hadn’t she turned him in? Forget her own safety, what had stopped her from protecting others?

Brass turned Brittney over to a uni so he could escort her to a car but Nick just stayed still, staring. “Why’d she stay, Jim?”

“You’ve read the same materials I have.”

“I mean Sara. Why’d she stay? And why …” he shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll take the notes over to DB. Looks like this isn’t going to be as difficult as it seemed.”

“The patterns on her face are an exact match to his hands. No, this one isn’t hard.”

Nick appreciated that Brass didn’t focus on the Sara angle. They all knew now, knew at least about the one fight that had put her in the hospital. But none of them were stupid enough to think that had been the only thing and Nick was amazed she’d been able to stay away. At least this time there was justice.

Well.

At least this time he hoped there would be justice.

***

  
Greg kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the couch, stretching out so he could see where Nick sat on the floor, on the other side of the coffee table. There was an empty pizza box and six empty beer bottles between them. His friend was quiet, too quiet, but usually that was a signal that he was about to talk. So Greg waited.

“I don’t get him, Man.” Nick shook his head.

“You’re trying to understand a guy like Dan Jarvis? Really?” Greg shrugged. “He’s a predator.”

“Grissom.” Greg raised an eyebrow at Nick’s comment but just nodded. Somehow, he knew that in Nick’s mind, there was some connection to the case and to Sara, so he waited and let Nick work it out in his head. “It’s like … everyone in the lab had a crush on her at some point.” Nick looked up at him. “You still do.” Greg just shrugged. To classify his feelings for Sara as a crush was too easy. He didn’t know if he was in love with her still, but she was also always the first person to come to his mind when he thought about a long-term life. “But we all knew she was Grissom’s girl.”

“I always thought she was her own girl,” Greg replied evenly. Especially in light of what had just happened, he wasn’t going to think of her as anyone’s “girl.” But Nick was a good boy from Texas. Of course he thought in terms like that. It wasn’t a knock against the woman Sara was.

“How could he just do this to her? Just do it over the phone?”

“He was here.” Greg shrugged again when Nick looked at him, eyes wide with a “why am I always the last to know” look. “I found out by accident. Showed up right after he left. Sara was a mess so I took her out for coffee.”

“What … what the hell is he thinking?”

“She won’t tell me which means I think either she doesn’t know or she doesn’t understand it.”

“How can she not know?”

“No, really, Nick.” Greg sat up a little. “I think she is so confused right now that she doesn’t know which way is up. And whatever conversation they had when he was here didn’t help any. Look at her face. She isn’t … she’s not processing this.”

“I’m not either!” Nick took a breath. “Look, we all learned a lot from Grissom. He was a good man. I just don’t believe he’d leave Sara in the lurch without a good reason.”

“Like what? Maybe she really was cheating on him?”

“Well, maybe?”

Greg rolled his eyes, “Nick, unless she tells us, it’s none of our business. And who are you mad at here? Sara or Grissom? Because we can complain all we want about Grissom being an idiot, she’s the one who’s been here. In Vegas. Maybe she wanted to stay and he wanted to go. And, take it from me, sometimes, relationships just end.” He really didn’t want to get into how badly things had fallen apart with Dawn. Luckily, Nick didn’t seem inclined to ask.

“Not their relationship, Greg.” Nick shook his head. “You didn’t see them that first day she was here, man. Back … we had this jumper case and Grissom and I were working it and she showed up to check in with him and I was up on the roof but I watched him just turn around and talk to her and the heat rose just looking at them, Greg. Even then I knew she was his girl and that they’d be impossible because they could read each other’s minds. And I was right.”

Greg fell silent again. He was as angry as Nick, but he wanted to take it out on Dan and on the next guy to come along who had ever hurt Sara. And if that guy happened to be Grissom, then it would be Grissom who got a knee to the groin. But more than revenge, he wanted Sara to smile again. To really smile again. To tuck her hair behind her ear the way she always did and then glance up, just a notch with her eyes and then smirk at some errant bit of evidence. When she worked, she worried her inner lip between her teeth and he always imagined that the area right at her lip would be worn soft and he wondered if it was a spot Grissom liked to kiss. Her hands were always as focused as her eyes – of all the criminalists he’d worked with over the years, he’d never seen anyone who processed as much by touch as by sight. Sara did. And when she was doing it, her whole body smiled.

Suddenly, Greg felt the need to confess. “She told me about Dan one night. It was a few years ago, I don’t think she and Grissom were even together at the time. It was around the time she got suspended and I went over with some pizza and beer and we talked and she told me she’d had this abusive boyfriend once. She didn’t get into details, but the way she dodged questions once it was out in the open, I could tell it was bad.”

“I wonder how Grissom reacted.”

Greg stared at his friend for a long time, wondering if he’d ever really understood the man who had mentored him for so long. “Did you ever see Grissom’s reactions to the people around her? How protective he was? But Sara is Sara. She’s not going to let some guy protect her. Not even Grissom.”

“I wish she would.”

“Get your head out of Texas, Nick. Sara’s from San Francisco. Things are done differently there.”

“And look what it got her.”

“What? She’s strong, Nick. And she’ll get through this. No matter what happens.”

“She’s still wearing her ring.”

“You’re still hoping they’ll reconcile.”

Nick picked up a piece of pizza crust and nodded. “Yeah, I am. And it’s not just because of Grissom. But because they love each other.”

“Yeah,” Greg conceded. “They do.” He thought back to the photos in the living room and the tears on Sara’s cheeks and the anger that resided deep in her. She was pissed and that had to get worked through. Somehow.

“I don’t understand her, man. I just don’t. I don’t understand any of this.”

“You’d better stop trying then. It’s not fair. Not to us or to them.” Greg rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “All we can do is be there for her.”

“Yeah.” Nick sighed. “You got a point.”

They sat there a while, the ticking of the clock on the wall the only noise in the room. It wasn’t fair, Greg thought, that life worked out the way it did sometimes. It just wasn’t fair. If only life could be like evidence, and never lie.

***

The bath had helped. So did the lavender oil in the water, the candles, and the soft strains of her Tori Amos playlist. Out of the water, Sara’s hair curled around her shoulders, dripping onto the satin robe Gil had bought for her in Italy. The bed sheets were changed; an old set she’d often had on her bed back before they’d moved in together. He’d never really cared for the sheets, and she hadn’t been that married to them, so after they moved in together, the sheets had gone to the back of the linen closet. Now they stretched across the mattress and she worried her fingers at a little hole near her pillow. Outside, Las Vegas was coming to life. People were heading to work and to school and she closed off the house to the bright of the day. For a moment she contemplated turning on the TV, finishing that latest episode of American Horror Story, but it could wait. She needed the calm.

She draped the robe over his side of the bed and kicked her slippers toward the dresser. The satin of her PJ’s clung to the still damp places on her body. Sara crawled across the mattress and stretched out, her head on her pillow, her back to his side of the bed, her eyes on the photo of him and Hank she’d taken in Peru. A shaking hand reached out and traced Gil’s bearded face and she knew the tears were coming. Before she could break completely, she picked up her phone and dialed. He’d asked for her to call and she couldn’t break her promise.

At least he answered.

“I’m going to sleep,” she said softly.

“Okay,” he replied.

Again, the silence hung and she wanted to say something but she wasn’t sure what to say. Was this how it was after seventeen years of a life together? She closed her eyes and saw not Gil, but Dan, looming over her, laughing. She’d found such strength in what Gil had given her back then. Maybe it was just as it was supposed to be.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Sara …”

She heard the tone, heard the plea, and what was left of the day’s self-control broke. She took a deep, tired breath and knew he could hear her tears and she just didn’t care. “Don’t. Please. Don’t say it, even in your head. Because it isn’t fair, Gil. It just isn’t fair. I’m going to sleep now.”

“Okay.” He said again, but she could hear the unspoken words. And then she hung up and put the phone on the table and for the first time since the call that had changed everything, she took off her ring, and this time, it stayed off. Whatever happened tomorrow, this was how it was right now. She curled up and cried herself to sleep, sobbing into a pillow that no longer smelled like him.

But even in sleep, shadows followed her.


End file.
